


Chosen

by boobooboo888



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book/Movie 2: Catching Fire, Catching Fire, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boobooboo888/pseuds/boobooboo888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Haymitch conspire to save Peeta from the Quarter Quell arena. They succeed and enter the arena as tributes in the 75th Hunger Games, leaving Peeta in the Capitol as mentor. Canon divergence partway through Catching Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor am I making any money from this.

>>\---->

The whole world is frozen, waiting. I feel the blood pounding in my head as I strain my ears, fervently hoping to hear Effie Trinket pronounce the only name that has been on my mind for months.

"Peeta Mellark." Effie's horrified voice rings across the square. Something huge and painful constricts my throat. I wait with bated breath, one beat, two, before Haymitch steps forward to volunteer in his place. I sigh in relief, though the pain in my chest does not lessen.

Peeta's reaction is immediate. He demands Haymitch rescind his pledge to volunteer, and failing to gain ground pleads with Effie to disallow it. I don't meet anyone's eyes. Not my family, who I am leaving for good. Not Gale, who shouldn't have wasted so many feelings on me. Not Effie, who is freely crying now. Not Peeta, who won't be coming with me into the arena. Not Haymitch, who I have sentenced to death.

I am relieved when the Peacekeepers hustle us unceremoniously off the stage and march us onto the train. I head straight for my room, shutting the world out as I go. With the door closed behind me I sink onto the bed like a stone. I am smaller than a stone, I am a pebble; if I curl tightly enough I might disappear altogether.

Now I can cry. Now I don't have to be brave. I will never see my mother and sister again. I will never say goodbye to my few friends. I will die a thousand miles away from my home. I will die without pride or glory. I will die and take Haymitch and countless others with me, all to keep the ones I love out of harm's way. I think I haven't cried this much since my father died. Finally I find a sort of exhausted peace and fall asleep. I think I hear distant shouting, but then everything fades to black.

>>\---->

In my dream Haymitch's name is drawn from the reaping ball and Peeta volunteers for him. We enter the arena together and every moment brings fresh threat of death. I see Peeta crushed, drowned, attacked by fanged beasts and besieged by Careers, and finally hit the ground with a knife in his chest and a dead heart. I scream over his lifeless body as if that can bring him back to life.

Suddenly Peeta himself, alive and panting, bursts into my room and gathers me in his arms.

"Oh my God,” I sob. “You were dead, you were dead. Your heart stopped!" He is used to my nightmares, but his eyes are still wild with concern.

"It's okay," he assures me. "It's working now." I cry harder.

I feel pathetic falling apart like this. I don't think I've ever been so vulnerable with another person. But here with Peeta is the safest I will be for the rest of my life, so I shut my eyes and melt into his warmth.

I'm not sure when it dawns on me that I am not the only one grieving. We have been tangled together, motionless in time, held securely against one another. I hear Peeta sigh, "I'm sorry, Katniss, I'm so sorry." I have no idea what he thinks he's apologizing for. We both know Snow has had me marked for death since I held out those poison berries and dared him to try me. "It's supposed to be me in there with you." This makes me shudder, and I shake my head violently.

"No," I manage to choke out. "You need to live."

"That's exactly what Effie said," Peeta tells me, and I think I hear anger beneath his words. He begins to pace around the room.

"You talked to Effie?" This makes my tears dry up. Peeta can convince anyone of anything. Did he persuade her to send him into the arena? Can she invalidate Haymitch volunteering? Did Haymitch tell him about our deal?

"Argued, actually. I wanted to talk to Haymitch but he’s shut himself in his own room with a bottle of liquor and won’t see anyone. I got upset and she sent me away.” I sit up straighter and watch him. “We had an agreement. Haymitch and I. He promised me he would let me go into the arena again." I wonder if he can read the guilt on my face. I drop my eyes. I know I'm not imagining the quiet fury in his voice. "He broke his promise."

I remember the Quell announcement, remember crashing through the forest in the dead of winter, remember the moment I realized Snow had sentenced both of us to death, not just me. Remember staggering into Haymitch's house, drinking his liquor, and begging him to sacrifice himself for Peeta. Remember Haymitch telling me Peeta had already been there, pleading to save my life. "This year we save him," I slurred. The one thought that carried me through every day was the mission to save Peeta. President Snow can try to crush me, but Peeta doesn't deserve to be collateral damage just because he's foolish enough to love me.

I feel guilt and nausea rise in my throat. I don't want him to be mad at Haymitch. We still need to work as a team to get Peeta home, and if he's angry with him for breaking his promise he's less likely to cooperate. Still, the agitation in Peeta's voice scares me. All spring as Peeta trained us for the arena, Haymitch and I kept our secret. He can never know that I'm the reason he's not going into the arena. He wouldn't understand.

>>\---->

Effie sends an Avox to fetch us for dinner. Peeta sends him away. He shuts the compartment door and returns to my bed. I crawl back into his arms and tuck myself under his chin. Crying has left me exhausted. I don't think I could stand being around anyone else right now. All I want to do is sit in miserable silence with Peeta.

"You should eat something," he says softly after a few minutes pass.

"So should you," I reply.

He snorts and rises from the bed again. He finds one of the Capitol attendants in the hall and orders warm spiced milk, fruit, and lamb stew for us. We eat quietly. There is not much to say.

We do not watch the reaping broadcasts from the other Districts. Peeta says he will get to work taking notes tomorrow. We wonder how Haymitch is faring. A small part of me knows we should be with him, dealing with this as a team. Even if he says he wants to be alone, no one but the three of us on this train know how he feels at this moment. I know we should try harder to reach him. Still, I am greedy for Peeta and want him all to myself tonight. I cling to him like a life raft.

As the world beyond my window rushes by and grows steadily darker, my eyelids droop and I greet sleep gratefully. Peeta turns out the light and slides between the sheets next to me. Neither of us wants to spend the night apart.

>>\---->


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch arrive in the Capitol and prepare for the tribute parade. They begin to assess the other tributes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor am I making any money from this.

>>\---->

The next morning I wake with a start and find myself alone. My eyes feel raw and crusted with salt. I feel lost for a moment when I realize Peeta must have gone to breakfast without me. I shake off the feeling and push back the curtains, hoping the blurry scenery outside my window might tell me where we are in relation to the Capitol. The sun is high in the sky. I wonder how long I've slept and when Peeta left.

I pull the blankets up around my shoulders. I pretend not to care that he's not here. Ever since the Quell announcement, when Peeta decided he was going to whip me and Haymitch into a couple of Careers, he's been distant and cold. Without really wanting to acknowledge it, I found myself feeling equal parts irritation and longing. We drew together during the Victory Tour, out of necessity, yes, but also for comfort. I missed the nights on the train, the gentle touches on my wrist or the small of my back, the whispered conferences as we waltzed before crowds and tried to determine whether we were convincing them of our love story. I missed the closeness and the intimacy. Even though our days of training were spent almost exclusively in each other's company, it wasn't the same. Last night, curled together and sheltered from the world, bonded by our grief, I felt united again, just for a moment. I felt connected. I expected to find that Peeta next to me again this morning.  

Impulsively, I shove those feelings aside and get to my feet. I shower quickly, braid my hair back, and dress in fresh clothes from the armoire. 

The dining car is empty when I enter, but breakfast is laid out, so I help myself while I wait for the others to show up. I'm halfway through my second plate of eggs when I realize no one else is coming. Effie and Peeta have always been annoyingly early risers and have likely already eaten, and I assume Haymitch is dining in his car this morning, likely finishing off whatever liquor he didn't drink for dinner last night. I finish my breakfast in silence. My only company is the Capitol attendant who comes in to clear my plate when I'm done. I smile up at her and am about to thank her when I notice tears welling in her eyes. The thought comes to me instantly: she feels sorry for me. The thought flutters away just as quickly; I don't have time to dwell on that just now.  

I push myself up from the table and go in search of Peeta. I am not surprised to find him at the far end of the train in a room taken up almost entirely by a large television screen. He is watching the rebroadcast of the reaping and taking furious notes on the stats and background information Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are sharing about each tribute. He is engrossed in his notes and doesn't look up when I walk in. I watch him from the doorway for a few minutes before joining him. He has an elaborate organizational system worked out. His weeks of research have filled dozens of notebook pages, which he has ripped out and sorted into piles. My eyes sweep over his careful handwriting, frankly amazed at the work and care he has put into this. 

"Hey," I say tentatively, shifting aside a stack of papers and perching on the edge of the couch.

He looks up and says, "Good morning," before looking back down at his notebook. "How did you sleep?" My heart sinks a little at the return of this businesslike Peeta. I cross my arms over my chest and sigh.

"Fine," I tell him. I want to tell him that I haven't slept so well (as well as could be expected, anyway, given the circumstances) since the last time he held me, our last night together on the Victory Tour. But it seems inappropriate to tell him that now. It would feel like talking about something private and sacred during a math test. I look up at the screen instead, watch the tributes from District 6 wave goodbye to their district. 

Next up, Caesar and Claudius launch into a recap and in-depth analysis of the first six districts. The Career districts have a large pool of beloved and terrifying victors, and they spend several minutes lauding praise on each of this year’s tributes. They seem especially fascinated by the reaping from District 4 and are replaying the footage with detailed analysis. While 4 used to produce a lot of victors decades ago, they’ve only had two in the past ten years, and they’ve only got a few left. Of those that remain, one of them first made a name for himself by being the youngest victor in the history of the Games. I watch as Finnick Odair, the legendary playboy, fills the screen and waves to the crowd, flashing his famous grin to the cameras. I watch him preen and flirt, rolling my eyes at his flamboyant charisma. Who would find that attractive? Yet many do, apparently; he is a well-known companion in the Capitol. 

His glimmering smile falters only for a moment when the female tribute is reaped, a frightened woman named Annie Cresta. She bursts into tears and begins to shake. As she starts to walk forward, the elderly woman standing next to her steps in front of her and raises her arm. The gesture is clear, she has volunteered for Annie. Annie tugs at the old woman's shoulder but she kindly disentangles herself and steps forward to shake Finnick's hand. I think I see something shining in Finnick's eyes, but before I can confirm Caesar and Claudius are back discussing the volunteer with disconcerting enthusiasm.

The old woman’s face is back on screen, her name is Mags. She must be in her 80s, her Games were well before the first Quarter Quell. I find that I can’t focus on any of the details of her original victory; I can’t stop staring at her eyes, wondering what would compel her to volunteer for Annie. Surely she can’t expect to win, and Annie herself seemed surprised when Mags volunteered, so she couldn’t have asked her. Either way, the action is brave, incomprehensible,  and watching her is quickly becoming unbearable. I want to ask Peeta what he thinks about Mags, but I’m worried the conversation might lead somewhere I’m unprepared for. Instead I ask, “Where’s Effie?” 

“I’m not sure. She wasn’t at breakfast.” He is adding to his notes about District 4 and won’t look over at me. I feel cold and dull, and inexplicably irritated with Peeta. Fine, if he doesn’t want to be friends, we won’t be friends. We can be tribute and mentor. It’s better this way.

I stand up abruptly and tell him I’ll see him at lunch. He reminds me vaguely that it’s important we keep up our training diet. I’m out of the room before he finishes his sentence. I return to my compartment, lock the door and tunnel under the covers of my bed. I don’t leave when lunch is served. I stay in my bed until we pull into the Capitol and I am brought into the Tribute Center to start prep for the parade.

>>\---->

I know I’m not imagining the tears in my preps’ eyes. They can hardly look at me without erupting in bouts of ugly sobbing. After two hours of this I am so on edge that when Cinna finally appears I snarl, “If you can’t control yourself then I’m leaving.” Cinna smiles warmly at me and sends the preps away to rehydrate and compose themselves.  

“They’ve grown quite attached to you,” he murmurs.

“I don’t care,” I tell him, more harshly than I mean to. “What’s the plan for tonight? More fire and ribbons this year?” 

“I thought we’d go a bit more dramatic,” he says thoughtfully. “You’ve grown up since the Capitol first met you. You’re not a young girl anymore, you’re a force of nature.”

I smirk at him. “You design dresses for forces of nature?”

“Almost exclusively,” he tells me. 

Three hours later I am transformed into a dark, dramatic creature. I observe myself in the mirror, my makeup makes me look dangerous and powerful. Cinna has done my hair up in elaborate braids and settled a black crown on my head. I am dressed in what appears to be a simple black jumpsuit, but he assures me there’s more than meets the eye. “That means fire,” I guess. He smiles and switches the suit on, transforming me into a glowing ember so bright I could set the whole world on fire.

Cinna escorts me downstairs to the staging area where the tributes are gathering with their chariots.  The elevator doors open to reveal what appears to be a large family reunion. The victors are gathered together in large groups, socializing and hugging. I’m glad for Cinna’s arm around my shoulders. He leads me over to my chariot and horses, then leaves to find Portia and Haymitch.

Before they return, Finnick finds me. “Well, well, well, the girl on fire in person.” 

“Finnick Odair, Capitol playboy,” I fire back.

He grins at me and nods his head at my ensemble. “I suppose you’re hoping to intimidate all the competition with fierce make-up and a fabulous outfit.”

“Did I steal your strategy?” I ask him. “That’s a nice skirt.”

He snickers and winks. “Thanks for noticing. I wanted a net with a more open weave, but apparently the Capitol still has standards.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” I ask him.

“I just wanted to meet the lady of the hour,” he replies mysteriously. “You’ve made quite a splash, I’m not sure I like sharing my spotlight.”

“Believe me, you can have it. I’ve had my fill of Capitol attention.”

“Mm, I bet you have. Congratulations on the engagement, by the way. You and Peeta must be thrilled.”

I scowl at him. “You can ask him yourself, here he comes.” Finnick turns to see Peeta striding towards us. 

“Peeta Mellark,” Finnick says, a dark energy in his voice that I can’t figure out. “Pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand in greeting.

“Finnick. I’m sure it is. Everything all right?” I grimace at the terse edge in his voice and cross my arms tightly.

“Everything is fine,” I snap. “Why are you here?”

Apparently sensing the tension between us, Finnick excuses himself. He leans forward to kiss my cheek, grinning when I jerk away from him, and is gone with a final wink.

“What’s that about?” Peeta asks. He doesn’t even sound jealous; I’m not sure why that irritates me so much.

“Just making friends,” I tell him shortly.

He observes me for a moment. I stare back. “Okay,” he says finally. “They need me upstairs for mentor interviews. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine,” I tell him again. “Haymitch will be here soon.”  Peeta takes this as his cue to leave and I am left alone again with the horses. I absentmindedly stroke the mane of the horse closest to me.

Cinna returns with Haymitch. I cast a critical eye over Haymitch’s ill-fitting jumpsuit. His outfit is designed to complement mine; obviously the costumes were intended for me and Peeta. Several crude thoughts cross my mind about the insanity of the Capitol sending their favorite victors back to the arena; I push them away. Time to be charming.

Cinna shows us how to light the fire and tells us to show the crowds no mercy. We are unforgiving, angry, disdainful. "Finally something you're good at," Haymitch tells me. 

I smile sarcastically. "I hope you're not hiding a flask in that catsuit." We step into the chariot and direct the horses to join the queue.

>>\---->

After the parade is over and Haymitch and I have extinguished our suits, he leads me over to a circle of victors and begins to make introductions. The female tribute from District 8, Cecelia, is a middle-aged woman with a warm smile and a quick wit. Haymitch greets her with a hug and asks about her kids. A man I recognize as the male tribute from District 11 grins when he spots me and kisses me full on the mouth before I know what’s happening. I leap backwards and stare at him in horror. Haymitch and the other victors burst into obnoxious laughter. “This is Chaff,” Haymitch tells me. “He’s very friendly.” I glare at him.

“I’m going upstairs. It’s nice to meet you.” I turn on my heel and storm towards the elevators. 

“Wait! Come on,” Haymitch calls, hurrying after me. “They’re messing with you. You’re new.”

“I don’t care,” I snap. “I’m done with this for tonight.” He follows me into the elevator. We are joined by the female tribute from District 7. I remember her name vaguely. 

She turns to me once the doors close and says, “So you’re Haymitch’s protégé.” Her voice sounds more than a little accusatory. 

“Katniss,” I tell her, instantly filled with dislike.

“Charmed. Johanna Mason.” She smirks and looks me up and down. “You bring that boyfriend of yours with you? I was hoping to meet him.” I glare at her, unsure how to respond.

“Johanna is also, er, very friendly,” Haymitch suggests weakly.

“Oh yeah, I love making friends.” Johanna chooses this moment to begin unwinding her hair and pulling the bracelets from her wrists. “Although I can’t say I feel very friendly towards my stylist. Trees. Brilliant. Next time I see her I’m putting an axe in her face.” She unzips her dress and steps out of it, letting it pool around her feet as we arrive at the 7th floor. She steps out of the elevator in just her high heels. “Welcome to the jungle, little cat,” she calls over her shoulder.

Once the doors close I take a moment to shake off Johanna’s spontaneous strip tease. I turn to Haymitch and tell him in a rush, “Peeta’s angry at you for volunteering. I just thought you should know.” He sighs and nods, and we ride the rest of the way in silence.

When we reach the penthouse, I head straight for my room to shower. I stand under the hot spray until all traces of the heavy makeup have washed down the drain.  
  
I hear angry voices as I walk to the dining room. I wonder who Haymitch is arguing with so late at night. I assumed everyone else had gone to bed after the parade. I don't recognize Peeta's voice at first, it's been a while since I've heard him so worked up. I stand just around the corner and listen.  
  
Peeta is yelling. "You had no right! You promised me."  
  
"It was out of my hands," Haymitch drawls, and I hear the clink of ice in his glass.  
  
"What does that even mean?" Haymitch's voice is snarky and disinterested when he replies, although I can't make out what he says.  
  
I step into the room just in time to see Peeta deliver a magnificent uppercut to Haymitch's jaw. In that moment I see the Boy on Fire, the second victor of the 74th Games. He is not the sweet, gentle boy I hold tenuously in my heart. He is all fury and injustice.   
  
"Peeta, what are you doing?" I run forward to help Haymitch off the floor.  
  
"Your jackass boyfriend just decked me for trying to save his damn life," Haymitch snarls, stepping roughly away from me. He retrieves his tumbler from the floor.  
  
"I didn't ask you to save my life," Peeta snaps heatedly.  
  
"Well, someone did," he replies darkly, crossing the room to pour himself a fresh drink. When Peeta asks the inevitable follow-up question, Haymitch glances at me over his shoulder and says, "This is your game, sweetheart. You tell him."  
  
"Tell me what?" Peeta demands. I take a step back, momentarily intimidated by having the full force of Peeta's furious attention turned on me. "Tell me what?" he asks again when I don't answer.  
  
I pull him into my room and shut the door. He storms away from me and paces the length of the room. I have never seen him this agitated. I have no idea how to calm him down. Telling him the truth certainly won't help.  
  
"He's mocking me!" he shouts. "He broke his promise and now he's mocking me!"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "No, he didn't," I say quietly.

"He did," Peeta insists. "You were there."

"He didn't break his promise." I still can't meet his eyes. "Haymitch and I. We had a deal."

The room fills with thick silence. Several moments pass before I can bring myself to look at Peeta. He is standing across the room gripping the back of a chair with white knuckles and horrorstruck eyes.

"You told him to take my place." His voice is hoarse and hushed. His anger has drained away. I nod and watch him press the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Why?" he asks after a while.

I tell him the truth. "You saved my life once. Now it's your turn."

He shakes his head, and when he speaks it is with considerable effort. "I saved your life so you could live." 

"You deserve to live," I tell him quietly. I watch tears fill his eyes, making them bluer than ever, and am caught off guard by the feeling that pierces my heart. I cross the room and put my arms around him. The gesture feels natural, instinctual. "I'm sorry," I whisper. I feel his head drop onto my shoulder in what feels like defeat. We stand together like that for a long time.

>>\---->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read so far and left kudos and comments! It means a lot to me. I'm hoping to post somewhat regularly, we'll see how that goes. Also, a huge thank you to the lovely and inimitable caramelwillow for being the best, most enthusiastic editor a girl could hope for, and also for enduring my constant stream of nitpicky questions about THG canon and character motivations. Love you! <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss and Haymitch begin training for the arena. Katniss tries to get to know the other tributes and determine who she wants as allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor am I making any money from this.

>>\---->

My breath rises in a stream of fog in the frosty morning air. I steal silently through the woods, ears pricked for the hunt. Peeta is back at the camp, asleep and safe where I left him. I check my snares, retrieve three rabbits and add them to the birds I shot and the last blueberries of the season already gathered in my bag. The leaves around me glow orange and red, the early autumn chill bites at me. When I return to the campsite I find him coaxing a fire and starting to boil water for tea. He smiles at me. He seems tired. We are both tired. He looks relieved to have me back. He reaches for my hand and I let him hold it for a few moments. I try to return his smile. 

I set my bag down and move a few yards away to clean the birds and rabbits. Peeta doesn't like the smell of blood. We prepare breakfast in silence. We are deep in the woods, we haven't seen another person in weeks. I know the strain of being on the run is wearing on Peeta, it's wearing on me too. But at least he's alive to be worn out.

As I work I keep one eye on the trees, ears trained to discern the ominous hum of Capitol hovercraft above. We have evaded them several times already. I know they will never stop until they find us. I don't know how much longer we can keep running, but the alternative is unthinkable. Capture means death, so we will run.

I look over at Peeta. After a moment he looks up and smiles. A rush of warmth touches my cold heart. I smile back at him, then return to skinning my rabbits.

A thousand miles away, I turn over in bed and open my eyes in the darkness. I blink away that dream world and feel silk sheets beneath my cheek. Peeta, safe and warm, sleeps soundly beside me. Safe is relative I guess. We are in the Capitol, but at least we're not dead yet.

I'm not sure how long I watch him. Soon dawn begins to light the sky and his eyes flutter open. He smiles at me, just like in my dream, and I feel my cheeks flush again. "Hey," he says softly, voice rough from sleep.

"Do you think we should have run away?" I ask him. "After the Victory Tour."

A wrinkle forms between his eyes as he tries to catch up. "Where?"

I sit up and turn away from him, suddenly agitated. "I don't know. Anywhere. Somewhere they couldn't find us."

He's silent for long enough that I grow curious and turn back to look at him. "What about your family?" His voice is gentle. "What about Gale?"

"They would be fine," I say uncertainty. He gives me a look to indicate that he knows I know that's not true.

"You know I would have gone with you, Katniss," he says quietly. "But I think we both know that would have been a long shot. You're clever in the woods, if anyone could keep us safe it would be you. But we would be on the run forever."

He's right. Of course he's right. No matter how hard I try it seems I can never keep him truly safe. I close my eyes and let him rub my back. As morning finds us we curl together, waiting for the Capitol attendants to fetch us. Today Haymitch and I begin training with the other tributes. Peeta will begin his first day as a mentor. I ask him if he's scared. He says yes and asks me if I am. I think for a moment. I've been scared every moment of every day since Prim was first reaped. And now that I've said goodbye to everything else in my life I realize that I am scared of the last time I will see the clear blue eyes studying mine. I am terrified. I tell him yes. Then I close my eyes and let him whisper sweet words of encouragement. How can I let him go? How did I ever grab hold so tightly?

>>\---->

To say breakfast is a tense affair would be an understatement. While the chilly distance between Peeta and I has given way to a tentative peace, Peeta is reluctant to let go of his frustration with Haymitch. The feeling appears to be mutual. 

The side of Haymitch's face is deeply purple, serving as a good reminder of Peeta’s impressive strength. I try not to stare. He grumbles under his breath as he eats. Effie sits next to him. Based on the expression of outrage she wears, she has learned the details of the previous evening's altercation and is not pleased. She is staring daggers at Peeta. Eventually he puts down his fork and says, "If you have something you'd like to talk about, just say it."

"I just don't understand what could have compelled you to act in such a way," she bursts out.

"Secrets and lies," Peeta answers shortly.

"You're one to talk," Haymitch scoffs. "Secrets and lies are the only reason you're alive right now."

"Yes, secrets and lies I was a part of," Peeta fires back.

"You're a hypocrite."

"You're a drunk."

"You better watch yourself, kid. The next time you come after me I'll show you how I got to be your mentor in the first place."

"Great. I'd love a fair fight." I lay my hand on Peeta's arm in warning. He ignores me.

"Better make it quick, odds are I'll be dead in a week."

This pushes Effie over the edge. She jumps up from the table and hurries out of the room. We can hear her crying down the hall.

Haymitch glares at Peeta. "Next time you have a problem with me, deal with it privately. It's cruel to upset Effie needlessly."

"Well next time don't lie to me," Peeta suggests, retrieving his fork.

"I'll keep that in mind," Haymitch tells him. "If I forget I've got this nice bruise to remind me. Just in time for training and interviews too."

Peeta smiles darkly and says, "I think it makes you look tough. It will make the audience think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you even made it to the arena." Haymitch actually snorts at this and smirks, defusing the tension a bit.

Haymitch begins to describe what our next few days will look like. He and I will be in the training center honing our skills, and more importantly, sizing up the other tributes. I'd like to think that Peeta's detailed research gives us a leg up, but the truth is that most of these people have known each other for years. They appear to get along with Haymitch well enough, but they have no reason to trust or like me. My only protection is my association with Haymitch, and I'm not sure if that will be enough in the arena, when it counts.  

Peeta will spend his days giving interviews and meeting with sponsors. Despite not having the years of connections and experience Haymitch does, I have no doubt Peeta is charming enough to convince several people to sign over their entire estates if it can keep the star-crossed lovers alive. I have complete confidence in his ability to sell our love story for all it’s worth. The one drawback is that he'll be accompanied by Effie, with whom he is currently on shaky ground.

"Think you can manage not to make her cry again?" Haymitch barks.

Peeta glowers. "If I recall, you're the one who made her cry, but I take your point. I will apologize to Effie and explain what happened. You don't need to worry."

"I know." And we move on.

>>\---->

As we enter the Training Center, Haymitch reminds me, "Today is about making friends, deciding who you want to ally with in the arena."

"Does it really matter who I want as allies? Seems to me it's more about who's willing to have me on their team."

Haymitch hesitates before answering, "Just keep an open mind."

At first glance, options are sparse. Half the tributes aren't even down here, and of those that are immediately visible, the majority are either inebriated or unhinged. Johanna Mason is flinging axes at target tree trunks with unsettling precision, while a group of Career tributes are comparing their personal best spear-throwing distance. 

"Sort of a grim selection," I mutter to Haymitch.

"Just go be your sunny self and try to talk to them," he replies. 

I contemplate his directive for a moment and then walk to the empty, far end of the room. Just like last year, the knot tying station is abandoned; I decide to start there. I remember most of the knots, but the review is a welcome distraction. I allow myself to sink into the repetitive activity. I am deep in concentration when I feel the hair rise along the back of my neck. I startle at the sudden appearance of two long tanned arms on either side of me. Finnick laughs as I leap away from him.

"Planning to weave an escape rope?" 

"You never know what might come in handy," I say coolly.

He grins and helps himself to a length of rope. His hands work quickly. "If you're looking for an escape in the arena..." He tightens a final loop and holds up the noose he has fashioned. "You want to try it on?"

I glare at him. "I'll pass." He sets the noose on the table and shrugs.

Haymitch comes over then. "Making friends?" I glare at him too.

"Nice bruise," Finnick comments. 

"Thanks, you should see the other guy."

Finnick grins and his eyes glitter. "Oh please tell me it was Mellark." For a tiny moment I think Finnick might be okay. He winks at me and the moment passes. I roll my eyes and leave them standing together with the ropes.

>>\----> 

At lunch I sit sullenly next to Haymitch while he banters loudly with the other tributes. At some point I get the impression that they are deliberately making off-color jokes to provoke a reaction out of me. I do my best to ignore them, but eventually I reach my breaking point and abruptly leave the table. Haymitch finds me and reminds me that I'm supposed to be convincing the others to ally with me.

"I'm not good at convincing people," I remind him. "That's Peeta. Remember?"

"I sure do. And I hope you remember that it's his job to convince the sponsors you're worth saving. You're going to make it a whole lot harder for him if all the other tributes single you out and turn you into their top target."

I flush in anger. I feel manipulated, but I know he's right. I hate that. "Fine, then tell me what to do. Obviously making friends isn't the best strategy."

"So make an impression," he suggests. When I look blankly at him he clarifies, "Play to your strengths."

I nod and head to the archery range to warm up. After a few months out of practice, I'm a little rusty, and the Capitol weaponry takes some getting used to. Soon my muscles are hot and I feel my anxiety and irritation fall away. In my mind I am back in the woods, free and focused. The range is designed to become increasingly difficult as I hit each target. I empty my quiver four times before I become aware of the audience that has gathered.

Most of the tributes are standing together staring at me. Haymitch is nodding in approval. Johanna Mason does not look impressed. Mags, the female tribute from District 4, is nudging Finnick and attempting to silently communicate something to him with a series of hand signals; he is listening to her with a gentle smile on his face that I can't reconcile with all the flashiness and flirting I've seen from him up to this point.

I look beyond the mob of tributes and see that the Gamemakers are watching me too. I catch Plutarch Heavensbee looking at me with an unreadable expression. I stare back at him. I hope he saw the flames I wore last night. I hope he sees that I am dangerous. I hold up an arrow and give him a significant look.

I turn away, reset the targets, nock the arrow, and shoot.

>>\---->

The next time I see Peeta, he is elated. He hurries towards me as I return to the penthouse after training. "Whatever you did today worked," he gushes. "Half the other tributes have put in formal requests to ally with you. 

I am still uneasy with the notion of allying with people I don't know and can't trust, but I try to muster up some enthusiasm for Peeta's sake. "That's great."

"It's incredible, better than I could have hoped for." He is practically bouncing on his toes with frantic energy. "I have to get my notes so we can determine who your best options are." He jogs to his room.

Haymitch steps out of the elevator and joins me. He eyes the stack of paper Peeta thrust at me before disappearing. "More research?" 

"Ally requests. Apparently I was quite popular this afternoon."

He nods knowingly. "Yes, good mentoring can do that."

"You're a tribute," I remind him.

"Old habits die hard."

Peeta reappears, still flushed with excitement, his irritation with Haymitch forgotten for the time being. "Did you hear the news?" He beams at me. "Katniss is everyone's top pick."

"I'm not surprised. They saw her shoot. For real."

Peeta looks at me with an expression I can't quite interpret. "I'm jealous," he says, and his tone makes me blush. "I've never really seen you shoot before. Maybe I should stop by tomorrow." I realize then that the look in his eyes is pride. He's proud of me.

"I'm going to shower before dinner," I tell them, handing the papers back to Peeta.

>>\---->

Over dinner, Haymitch and Peeta engage in a spirited debate about the other tributes. Effie and Peeta seem to have made up, and she is inserting her opinions about each tribute and their appeal in the Capitol. Meanwhile Cinna and Portia have plenty to contribute about the way the district stylists have chosen to present them, and what we might infer from this about their strengths and strategies. I lose interest about ten minutes into the conversation. I'm still not all the way on board with having allies, and I'm certainly not going to ally with someone just because Haymitch or Peeta tells me to. I am further dissuaded from taking their suggestions once I hear that Finnick is at the top of both their lists. I decide to let them exhaust themselves arguing and resolve to make my own assessments in person tomorrow. 

>>\---->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos! And thank you so much for reading. If you're reading this note, I hope you have a great day. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss continues to recruit allies and butt heads with Haymitch over her strategy. Her anxiety increases as she wrestles with her impending separation from Peeta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor am I making any money from this.

>>\---->

The next morning I enter the Training Center with a new agenda. Last night before bed Peeta tried again to sell me on his preferred alliance, but I firmly refused to discuss it. I told him I would be making my own decisions on my own time. I could tell he was frustrated with me for shutting him out of the decision, but managed to stop short of reminding him that I was the one who would actually be in the arena with them. The amiability between us seems to be holding, and although I am reluctant to admit it, I am grateful to be sharing a bed with him again. Being back in the Capitol as a tribute once more is taxing, but more than that, I find that I am increasingly unnerved by the idea of separating from Peeta. Although I trust I have made the best decision given the circumstances, part of me still wishes to find a way to keep him in eyesight at all times.

As I walk through the training stations, I am tempted again to seclude myself in a corner. It was easy yesterday to ignore Haymitch and train on my own. I find it more difficult to ignore Peeta's voice and imploring eyes in my mind. "I know you don't want to do this,” he reminded me this morning, “but please try."

I spot Mags working dutifully by herself with Finnick nowhere in sight. I think back to the tender moment I had witnessed between them the day before. May as well start there.

She looks up and smiles warmly as she sees me approach. "Hi," I say gently. "What are you making?"

She pantomimes catching a fish and I nod in understanding. Fish hooks. "That's great." I notice the intricately woven net laying on the table. "Did you make this too?" She nods, and her eyes crinkle up in the corners as her smile deepens. "Can you show me how to make a fish hook?" I ask her. "I can teach you how to start a fire."

Mags and I work in companionable silence. I watch her hands carefully and do my best to reproduce the fishing lures she demonstrates. I don't know how I would do actually trying to fish with them, but making the lures themselves is close enough to making arrows that I manage well enough. Mags is an encouraging teacher, smiling broadly at me with the completion of each hook.

As we work, I find myself at ease. I remember that this woman could be living out her last years in District 4. Instead she is here. I put down my fishing lure. Words spill out of my mouth. "You were really brave, volunteering for that girl. The other tribute."

She looks up at me and I see tears fill her eyes. She reaches a gnarled hand towards me and places it over mine, nodding. Her meaning is clear. We have both volunteered for someone. But somehow I think our situations are different. "Prim is my baby sister," I tell her. "I had to." She squeezes my hand, and I look away. I am comforted by knowing at least one of my fellow tributes’ motivations.

When it's time for us to swap roles, we move further along the room where an assortment of items is spread out. I spot chips of flint, as well as several other rocks, tinder, and kindling. Mags and I sit on a log to begin starting a fire. We quickly find that while Mags's hands are well adapted to the delicate work of winding together thread and wire for fish hooks, she lacks the strength to generate sparks to start a fire. She seems content to watch me. Per her request, I tell her a story about me a Prim from when we were younger. She seems to be attached to what she knows of my sister and delights to hear about our adventures as children. I tell her about a sunny day my dad had off from the mines. He took us walking through the Meadow and sang to the mockingjays. The memory makes me smile, and I still my hands for a moment, remembering.

A shadow falls across us and I look up to see the woman from District 11 standing near me. I tense, the memory leaving me. I remember Haymitch introducing us after the parade, her name is Seeder. He is friends with her. I ought to greet her. I feel mildly irritable that she interrupted my conversation with Mags.

"Very impressive," Seeder says, indicating with a nod of her head the small flames I've coaxed. "We haven't really properly met.” I stand, shake her proffered hand.

"Well that's probably because your district partner was making his own introductions." I cross my arms over my chest. For some reason I can't pin down I don't feel quite at ease around this woman.

Seeder laughs. "Yes, he tends to do that." She doesn't seem inclined to offer an apology, but when she sees me peering around her to see if Chaff is aiming to join us, she assures me that he is otherwise engaged with Haymitch.

"Is that your sister you were talking about just now?"

I bristle at her question, but shove aside the feelings of protectiveness that surge up inside me. I nod. "Prim."

"You must love her a lot." I'm not sure how to answer her so I wait for her to continue. I'm still not sure why she has approached me, and I watch her warily. Peeta would probably have her figured out by now. "You allied with my tribute last year," she says finally.

"Rue." I breathe her name, feel the strength leave me and tears spring to my eyes. I suddenly know that this is the source of my unease. Somewhere in my mind I had known that this woman must have known Rue, must have been her mentor. Is she about to reprimand me for letting Rue die? "I'm sorry, I tried to save her-"

Seeder puts a hand on my arm and says, "I know. You did everything you could. You took care of her. Like a big sister should." I swallow hard around the lump in my throat. "I won't forget what you did for her." I nod, hold her gaze for as long as I can, then excuse myself to get a drink of water.

>>\---->

Haymitch and Peeta's reactions when I tell them I want Mags and Seeder as allies would probably be funny if I weren't feeling so defensive. Haymitch starts laughing derisively while Peeta blurts out, "They're going to be the two oldest women in the arena."

"They're the only two I can trust," I snap at them.

"Katniss, the goal is to come out of there alive," Peeta reminds me sternly.

I glower at him. "Yes, and I have a much better change of surviving if I'm not partnered up with someone who might put an axe in my head while I'm sleeping."

Haymitch interjects then. "I don't think any of us were deluded enough to think you'd let Johanna Mason anywhere near you."

"Good," I tell him. "Because I won't. Or Finnick," I add savagely.

"Of course," Haymitch replies sardonically. "So just District 11 and the elderly half of 4, then."

"Not District 11," I correct him. "Your drinking buddy isn't welcome."

"They're sort of a package deal, Sweetheart."

I sigh angrily. "Tell him not to kiss me again, and I'll consider it."

"Who kissed you?" Peeta asks.

"Oh what do you care?" I snap. I turn back to Haymitch. "Who I decide to ally with is my business. I don't need your approval. You're not my mentor anymore," I point accusatorily at him, standing up from the couch, "and _you_ ," I say, turning to point at Peeta, "can't tell me what to do."

I storm out of the living room and retreat down the hall to my room. I slam and lock the door behind me, and march straight into to the bathroom. I am sure I hear Peeta knocking on my bedroom door before I step under the shower spray. I ignore him and spend longer than is necessary or reasonable in the shower.

I take my time drying and dressing. By the time I have brushed and braided my hair, I hear Peeta knocking at the door again. I find my frustration hasn't quite ebbed, so when I wrench the door open I bark at him, "I'm not interested in fighting."

"I know," Peeta says calmly, holding up his hands in surrender. "Neither am I." I study him with a skeptical eye. "Can I come in?"

I nod and step back to let him into the room. I cross my arms over my chest and watch him, waiting to see what he's come to say. "You're right," he says, and I blink at him in surprise. "You should have the freedom to ally with whoever you like."

"I'm not like you," I tell him. "I can't just ally with Careers because they're the strongest and the best, and hope I can trust them."

He gives me a wry smile. "I didn't ally with the Careers because I thought I could trust them, I allied with them because I knew they couldn't trust me. I was trying to lead them away from you."

I duck my head and turn away from him, drifting across the room to stand near the window. I put a hand up to the glass and stare out at the Capitol without really seeing it. I hear Peeta following me across the room. "I'm not like you," I tell him again. "I don't have a plan going into that arena."

"Your plan is to come home," he reminds me softly. I hum noncommittally. "Obviously I'm biased because I want you to be with the strongest people who will give you the best chance of survival," he continues. "But it is up to you. Just promise you'll keep an open mind?"

I turn back and study his eyes. They are clear, earnest. He really isn't trying to manipulate me. I exhale slowly. "Okay. I'll try."

Later that night, when Peeta has been quiet long enough that I assumed he had fallen asleep, he asks, "Why did you choose to ally with me last year?"

I turn over and prop myself up on one elbow so I can look at him. He looks back at me with guileless curiosity. His golden hair shines in the moonlight. "Because I could," I tell him simply. I think of the rule change. I think of the moment I learned I could save him. "Because there was a chance we could both go home."

"But you didn't have to," he presses softly. "No one would have blamed you if you had continued on your own."

I sit up and look away from him, looping my arms around my legs and pulling them tight to my chest. Maybe he’s right. But I can't imagine a world in which I didn't find Peeta in that mud bank. I can't imagine returning to District 12 a victor without Peeta beside me. Maybe he thinks no one in District 12 would have blamed me, but I know I would have blamed myself.

"Well I did," I tell him, so quietly I'm not sure he hears me. "And I'm glad I did." After a while I ask, "Why did you ask me that?"

"Oh," he says sleepily, "I'm not sure. Just wondering." His question, whether he intended it or not, has gotten me thinking.

I wanted to save him. I knew I had to try to save him. And what about Rue? She reminded me of Prim, I thought I could save her too. So why am I drawn to Mags and Seeder? Is it because I think I can save them too? Or is it deeper than that? I believe they are worthy of being saved. My questions remain unanswered. My grief over Rue's death threatens to overwhelm me, and as I lie back down and turn to face to the windows, hot tears slide silently down my face. I keep my breathing tightly controlled so Peeta won't hear me.

>>\---->

The next morning at breakfast Peeta warns Haymitch not to harass me about my ally selection process. Haymitch snorts. "No, she's clearly doing fine on her own so far. May as well recruit Nuts and Volts for your non-Career pack. They're as crazy as you are." I scowl at him and viciously slice my waffles.

Down in the Training Center I scan the room searching for the tributes from District 3. When I spot Beetee and Wiress, I make a beeline for them. They are sitting near the camouflage station, and Wiress is allowing herself to be painted by the morphlings from District 6. They are focusing mostly on flowers and swirls. I walk right up to the pack of them and say, “Hi, I’m Katniss.”

Wiress and one of the morphlings look bemused at my sudden appearance. I understand right away why Wiress has earned the nickname “Nuts.” Beetee looks up at me with an expression of surprise mingled with amusement. “Katniss Everdeen,” he says thoughtfully. “We meet at last. Would you care to join us for a morning of artistic expression?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “It’s not really my thing. Doesn’t seem to be yours either.” He is fidgeting with what appears to be a small electronic device.

“No indeed,” he agrees, smiling. “I suppose painting is more in your counterpart’s skill set.” He means Peeta. I nod and glance over at one of the morphlings, who is watching me with unabashed curiosity. I remember hearing that one of the victors from their district made a bid for bunch of Peeta’s paintings; I wonder if it was one of these two.

The morphling reaches for my hand and gazes at me with a question in her eyes. I guess that she is asking permission to paint me too. I freeze when her fingers touch my skin. I try to channel Peeta – he can make friends with anyone. What would he do? I breathe in and out a few times, then smile at her and nod my head. “Sure.” She begins to paint a small red and orange flame on the back of my hand.

I watch her paint for a moment. I look up when Wiress gasps, “The ripples!” I follow her eye line to find the ripples she’s referring to. She seems to be staring up at a blank patch of air. I glance over at Beetee for confirmation that whatever she is looking at is not visible, but he is staring just as fixedly at the same patch of air.

“Ahh,” he sighs in delight. “Very good.” He adjusts his glasses and peers over the top of them.

“What is it?” I ask. “What can you see?”

“The ripples,” Wiress insists. “The ripples.” I blink my eyes open wider but still don’t see anything.

“Ripples…in the air? What does it mean?”

“It’s not air,” Beetee says. “It’s energy.” When I answer him with a blank expression, he patiently continues, “It’s a barrier of electricity. A force field.”

I smile as understanding dawns. They must have installed the force field after my private lesson last year. “Plutarch Heavensbee sure has gotten more security conscious since I shot an arrow at him last year.”

Beetee gapes at me in amazement for a moment before chuckling delightedly. “So the rumors are true! The Girl on Fire is just as feisty as they say.”

I smile and ask Beetee what the device in his hands is. As he begins to describe it, I realize he and Wiress are clearly the smartest tributes in this room. I smirk as I add them to my mental list of allies, thinking of what Haymitch’s reaction will be.

I look back at the morphlings and see that they have begun to paint vivid orange and yellow flames up and down each other’s arms.

>>\---->

When it is time for our private sessions with the Gamemakers, we are seated by district. I watch as tributes are escorted down the hallway one by one.

Finally it is just Haymitch and me. I turn to him and ask, "How are we supposed to kill these people?" He goggles at me like he's never heard me speak before. "I know they're your friends, and everyone is getting along now, but what happens when we get in the arena?"

He looks at me for a long time, as though he's weighing his words carefully. I see his eyes flick to the guards at the end of the hall, and he hesitates before saying, "Just...try to remember who the real enemy is." With that, his name is called and he is escorted through the doors at the end of the hallway.

I sit alone and mull over his words. The answer seems obvious. The enemy are the tributes who are going to try to kill me. Isn't that the point of all the training and friend-making? To reduce the number of likely assassins and prepare to physically fend off the ones who remain? And yet as I am escorted beyond the steel doors (I nearly jump out of my skin when they call my name, so deep is my concentration), I can't help feeling that Haymitch was getting at something deeper. It makes me feel stupid, that his real meaning is just out of reach. But as I face the panel of Gamemakers, seated in their plush viewing box, safe behind an electric force field, understanding comes to me in a rush. I see Plutarch Heavensbee’s smug, calm face. I remember the way he watched me shoot the other day, remember how he flashed that mockingjay pocket-watch at me during the Victory Tour. The Girl on Fire is just one more jewel in his Gamemaker crown. In the arena, the Gamemakers are the enemy. It always comes back to them. None of us, with a few notable exceptions, are here by choice.

My plan is still forming when I start assembling materials. I heave a practice dummy onto a table, retrieve a length of rope from the knot-tying station and create a hasty imitation of the noose Finnick showed me the other day, slipping it around the neck of the dummy. I find the last pot of paint left over from the morphlings and daub a name across the dummy's empty white chest. I find my bow and arrows (as I have come to think of them) and slip them over my shoulder. I grab the flint rocks on my way back to the table. I throw the long end of the rope over a beam in the ceiling, yanking hard to pull the dummy up off the table so it hangs grotesquely from the ceiling. While their eyes widen as they see how I've named the dummy, I yank a handful of hair from my braid, wrap it tightly around the arrowhead, and set it alight with sparks from the flint. I nock the arrow and aim for the rope. The flaming arrow lodges in the coils of the noose, which catches quickly.

Plutarch Heavensbee's face is blazing with something like fury. I curtsey low and deliberately, flashing him the coldest look I can muster. I turn on my heel and stalk out through the doors.

>>\---->

Back on 12, I find myself alone. I have time to shower and change out of my training outfit before any of the others return. Haymitch and Peeta arrive within moments of each other, stepping out of separate elevators.

"What happened at training?" Peeta asks me, bewildered, by way of greeting. "All the mentors just got called into an emergency meeting about tribute conduct and misbehavior...?"

Haymitch storms out of the other elevator just then. "What the hell did you do?" he snarls.

"Hey! Don't yell at her!" Peeta says immediately, stepping forward to head him off. "What happened?"

"How do you know what happened?" I ask Haymitch in alarm. He grabs my arm and starts leading me across the room towards the balcony. "Those sessions are confidential."

"What happened?" Peeta asks again, keeping pace with us.

"Never you mind how I know," he growls, ignoring Peeta. He shuts the glass door behind us, locking Peeta out. "Rumor has it you did something irrational and inflammatory."

I gape at him. It never occurred to me that anyone else would find out what I did. Last year no one would have known about the arrow if I hadn’t told them. I don’t want Haymitch to know what I’ve done, and I really don’t want Peeta to know. I can’t see a way out of telling Haymitch though.

“I hung a dummy from the ceiling and set it on fire.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And I painted Plutarch Heavensbee’s name on it.”

“And what did you think that would accomplish? Trying to bring more fire down on yourself?” Haymitch demands. His rage seems to fill the air around us.

“I was thinking that they’re already planning on punishing me,” I snap. “Obviously our efforts to calm the districts didn’t work, which is why we’re here in the first place. I want them to know I’m not afraid of them.” I thought Haymitch of all people would be proud of me for standing up to them. He told me to make an impression. Isn’t that what I did?

“You’re not the only one they can punish for your idiotic actions. I guess a little foresight on your part was too much to hope for.” I want to yell back at him, tell him he’s wrong, tell him to shut up. But I’m worried he might right. Could the Gamemakers retaliate against me by going after Peeta? Can they hurt him even if he’s not in the arena?

He correctly interprets the look on my face. “They can reach everyone you care about, everyone you’re trying to protect. Peeta, Prim, your mother, Gale. Everyone.” At the sound of Prim’s name I feel like he’s kicked me in the gut. I reach for the railing to steady myself. Hadn’t Mags and Seeder just praised me for being a good older sister? How could I have been so foolish? I bite back the panic and nausea rising in my throat. I can’t lose my head now.

“What’s done is done,” I tell him, my voice shaking. Haymitch seems to be making a great effort to calm himself down. After a minute he nods curtly and leaves. I clutch at the railing and lean into the wind. I drink in the cool air, taking deep breaths to slow my racing heart. I feel strong hands on my arms, Peeta turns me around to look at him.

“What happened?” he asks me in a low voice. My cheeks color slightly in shame. I don’t want him to be disappointed in me. When I don’t answer at first, he reminds me, “You promised not to shut me out. We’re a team.”

I nod. “Don’t be mad. I hung Plutarch Heavensbee in effigy. I used one of the practice dummies.”

Peeta’s eyes are the size of saucers. “Oh Katniss,” he says after a moment.

“I know it was stupid and irrational,” I continue, the defensiveness returning to my voice. “I wanted to show them I’m not afraid, that I’m not—“

“Not just a piece in their games?” he finishes with a small smile.

I finally meet his eyes. I exhale in relief. “Exactly.”

I start to shiver, not from cold. Peeta puts his arms around me and murmurs, “It’s okay,” over and over.

“Seems like I probably made your job harder,” I tell him after a while. I don’t tell him that I probably lessened his chances of survival too.

He laughs humorlessly. “Well, that’s pretty much been the case all along.” He waits a few moments before continuing, “What you did was very brave. Insane, but brave.”

I don’t know how to answer him. “Can we just not talk about it?” I ask. “What’s done is done.”

“What’s done is done,” he repeats. That night our scores are revealed on Caesar Flickerman’s evening broadcast. I am given the coveted score of 12. To me it seems like a target sign, but at least it’s only on me so far.

After the broadcast, we all wordlessly agree that it is time for bed. Haymitch and Effie seem like they can’t wait to be away from me. Fine by me. I am halfway down the hall when I realize Peeta isn’t behind me. I double back and duck behind a corner when I hear his voice. “Remember, you’re in there to save her. You keep her safe. You understand?” He’s talking to Haymitch. I peer around the corner in time to see him press something into Haymitch’s hand. It flashes gold. Haymitch looks as perplexed as I feel. He looks down at whatever it is, inhales sharply, and looks back up at Peeta.

“You’re really something,” he breathes menacingly.

“Whatever it takes to get her home,” Peeta says again, steely determination in his voice. “That’s my playbook.”

Peeta is still trying to make deals behind my back to keep me safe. I wait for the feelings of indignation, injured pride, and irritation to fill me. They don’t come.

>>\---->

Dawn breaks and finds me nestled against Peeta's side. I watch the rising sun slowly illuminate him. I feel a little entranced by this golden boy, so peaceful in his sleep. I feel so safe here in our bed, so insulated from the tragedy of my life right now. I allow myself to drink him in, the feel of his arm around me, his impossibly long eyelashes, the slight smile on his lips. I wonder what he's dreaming about.

A sharp rap on the door causes me to scoot violently away from him and flush hotly, suddenly ashamed. Peeta wakes and sits up, trying to orient himself.

"It's nothing. It's fine. Go back to sleep," I bark at him, hastily shuffling off the bed and crossing to the door. I hear Peeta get up to follow me. I see his profile out of the corner of my eye and quickly look away. I hope he can't see how red my face is.

There is an Avox at our door with a note from Effie. Our training for our respective interviews has been cancelled. We look at each other in amazement. I have no idea what we are meant to do with an entire unscheduled day. I see the glimmer of an idea in Peeta's eye. He smiles mysteriously and leaves to shower.

I watch him walk away, his white t-shirt and blond hair glowing in the risen sun. I can't remember the last time I had a day free of obligation. I feel a little dizzy at the idea.

I cross to the closet and search absentmindedly through the clothes Cinna has provided for me. I keep an eye on the bathroom door as I dress. I recognize the absurdity of worrying about Peeta seeing me change given the considerable intimacy we've already experienced (including being engaged and almost dying in a cave together), but the idea makes me nervous nonetheless, so I dress quickly.

Peeta reappears a few minutes later, freshly dressed and scrubbing forcefully at his hair with a fluffy white towel. "You should grab a sweater," he tells me. "Don't want you to get cold."

He refuses to elaborate, despite my quizzical expression and repeated questions. He smiles pleasantly and I make sure to be extra disgruntled as he leads me out of the bedroom. We climb the stairs and as we emerge onto the rooftop I realize this is the only place we could have gone.

The sun is bright and I breathe in the clear air gratefully. I've never been up here in the daylight before. We take the opportunity to explore the garden, the fountains, and invent a game with the force field preventing our escape. We enjoy a picnic lunch and nap in the sun. I doze lazily with my head in Peeta's lap. He winds his fingers through my hair, loosening the braid and smoothing the tangles. I think I probably shouldn't enjoy it this much, but I am too relaxed to care. I melt into his touch. He tells me stories about the bakery and his grandparents and I realize how lovely his voice is.

I feel this is what it could have been like if we had been given the chance to fall in love with each other. Flirting and kissing and butterflies, without death and anxiety tempering every interaction. For once we exist in a vacuum, just me and my boy with the bread.

He kisses me slowly, sweetly under the dying sun. I come alive at his touch. I feel wing beats in my heart, electricity humming under my skin. His hands burn where they touch me. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pull him close to me. The balmy summer air wraps around us. Held tight in his arms, I feel at once exhilarated and completely safe. I sigh, and it feels like I’m releasing a breath I’ve been holding for too long. He leans back to look at me. The stars are beginning to shine in the dusk, I see them sparkling in his eyes.

Once the sun has set and the last of the day's warmth gives way to the chill of night, we return to the penthouse. I dress for bed slowly, taking my time in the bathroom to delay going to bed for as long as possible. Something feels different tonight. I feel charged with something I can't name. Sleeping with Peeta tonight doesn't feel like friends taking comfort in one another. It feels different. Meaningful. Real.

When I crawl in next to him and lay in his arms, I know that I could love him. I know that we could be lovers, if given the chance. In another world, we could be everything he wants us to be, and everything the Capitol citizens believe us to be, and everything I am too afraid to want. I shut my eyes and wish that I could love him. But love can't grow in a dying heart, and in a few days all this will be gone.

>>\---->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to caramel willow for being the best beta and fellow fangirl I could ask for. And thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and left kudos! If you want to follow me on tumblr to watch for updates I am boobooboo888. I hope you are doing well and staying warm! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The victors interview with Caesar Flickerman the night before the Games begin. Katniss and Peeta spend their last night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games nor am I making any money from this.

>>\---->

All day my preps do their best not to burst into tears while they transform me. They take turns snapping at each other not to get tears on my clothes and makeup, lest they have to start over. It occurs to me that they really do care for me. I might once have cynically thought that they only worked so hard to make me look good for their own career advancement. Some newfound compassion has opened my eyes: my preps may be Capitol through and through, but even they feel the unfairness of the Quell. In their own way, they have grown attached to me after fussing over me for the past year and proudly telling their friends that they worked on the Girl on Fire. Despite my unpleasantness and their vapidness, we have forged a bond, and they don't want me to die.

By midmorning I am at my wit's end. It doesn't help that Effie had to stifle wails of despair every time she came in to inspect our progress. I was developing a headache from the effort it took to keep from strangling someone. Eventually I banned her from the room.

Once I am washed, polished and made up, I look each of my preps in the eye and thank them, one by one. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize the gesture: it is Peeta shining through me. Where I am bitterness and rough edges, he is all kindness.

When they finally leave the room, I lean against the wall, shut my eyes and let out a long sigh. I press my hands flat against the wall to keep myself from touching my make-up and ruining it. My head pounds with emotion and aggravation. I stand there for a long time, focusing on breathing slowly in and out, in and out.

Cinna comes in with an enormous garment bag. Snow had requested I wear my winning wedding dress. I vaguely remember this gown from the fittings so many months ago. It is a confection of lace and pearls, rivaling the most elaborate cakes I've seen in the window of the bakery. Cinna helps me step into it and explains that he's been working all morning putting the finishing touches on it. The dress looks exactly the same to me as it did six months ago, but then I've never really had much of an eye for fashion.

He laces up the back and turns me towards the mirror. "You look lovely, Katniss," he says softy. "Peeta would have fallen in love with you all over again." Everyone else has been so resolute in their grief and denial about what tomorrow holds for me; Cinna's calm, steady voice is soothing. He knows there will be no contrived wedding. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don't recognize myself. Every inch of me seems to shimmer with pearls, jewels, and feathers.

I meet his eyes in the mirror. "Thank you for making this for me."

As he makes his final adjustments he tells me to remind the world who I am. I am the Girl on Fire. I am Katniss Everdeen, sister, lover, victor.  There is hope, he says. There is always hope. Before he leaves he tells me not to twirl until the very end.

I cannot sit in my dress, so I stand in the middle of the room and wait for Effie to collect me. She sniffles into a lace handkerchief as she escorts me backstage. Johanna Mason scoffs at my dress. Effie snarls, "How dare you!" and rushes off to compose herself.

I tell Johanna that Snow himself requested the dress and her expression changes. "Make him pay for it," she says, slow and vindictive. I nod once and an idea begins to form.

Peeta and I had discussed our strategy with Haymitch. Our plan was for me to play up my excitement about surviving the arena so I could return and marry Peeta. Convince the audience once more that they are an integral force in our love story.

As I listen to the rest of the victors make their pleas to the audience, I wonder if our plan is radical enough. Last year Peeta had shaken everything up by going where no one had gone before. What's to stop me from doing the same thing?

When Caesar Flickerman calls me to join him center stage, I sweep down the steps and am pleased to hear the crowd sigh in astonishment and wail in misery. Caesar fawns over me, exclaiming in tortured excitement how beautiful my wedding dress is and how tragic that I will never wear it. I find myself deeply appreciative of his flair for the dramatic. After saying goodbye to twenty-two of their favorite victors, the audience is an overemotional mess. If I succeed in pushing them over the edge, maybe the Capitol would consider canceling the Games. After all, when the Games stop being fun for the spectators, the Capitol can't control them.

So when Caesar asks me how it feels to know that I will never marry my true love, I realize what I need to do. Snow expects me to beg for mercy, to do anything to save my life. More than that, Snow expects me to do as he orders, and clearly I've never been very good at that. The Capitol citizens expect that I will do anything to return to Peeta. I've never really cared for having expectations of me.

"I can't lie to you. Peeta and I are already married." I think Ceasar's eyes may pop out of his head.

"A secret wedding!" he gushes. "When? Where?"

"A few months ago. We are so appreciative of everything the Capitol has done for us, but our love is more than papers and parties. So we had our own private toasting, not even our parents knew." I say this mostly for the protection of my family, in case they are questioned. Although I do have a moment of amusement contemplating the fury Peeta's horrible mother must be feeling at hearing the announcement.

I glance into the audience and see Cinna and Portia huddled together in furious consultation. Peeta is beside them staring at me with wide eyes. I imagine he is wondering what I will do next. I am wondering the same thing.

"You dear children," Caesar trills. "At least you got a few months of happiness together. That must bring you peace."

Suddenly the last piece of my plan falls into place. The only thing more powerful than two star-crossed children is three.

"I suppose that it would..." I tell him, sighing and letting my voice trail off dramatically. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, gathering courage. When I open them Caesar is staring at me with rabid fascination.

"What do you mean?" he breathes.

I shake my head slowly. "Oh Caesar, I'm pregnant."

He clutches at my arm for support. The audience erupts in pandemonium. I may as well have announced that a meteor is headed this way to destroy us all.

Caesar calls for silence and I see Peeta's shocked face on the screen behind me. I turn to find him in the crowd. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about the baby, Peeta. I didn't know how." A chime sounds to signal the end of my interview.

As Caesar tries to regain control I remember Cinna's reminder to twirl. I raise my arm in a dramatic farewell wave to the audience. As I twirl my dress is consumed in flames. Pearls hit the floor, lace and ribbons fly around me in licks of red flame. When the fire burns out I am left in a silky dress the color of coal. As Caesar gapes at me and haltingly describes what he decides are my mourning clothes for my lost youth and unborn child, I raise my arms again and unfold the black and white feathered wings sewn into sleeves of the dress. Where the Capitol sees death, the Districts will see life, hope, rebellion: I am the Mockingjay.

As I return to my place next to Haymitch, he winks and squeezes my shoulder. "That's my girl."

Caesar is visibly rattled, and does a scattered job interviewing Haymitch. We had anticipated that he would make a big show of the last Quell victor returning to another Quell arena. But the audience is still roiling with outrage and doesn't even seem to notice Haymitch's responses. The interview comes to a hurried end, and Haymitch reappears at my side. 

I lean over and ask, "Do you think they'll cancel the Games?"

He gives me a look of grim determination. "There's a first time for everything." He reaches for my hand, gripping it tight in his own. I startle at the contact; Haymitch isn't really one for physical affection, and I don't usually permit anyone aside from Prim or Peeta to touch me. When I stare at him in confusion he nods his head sharply at Chaff next to me. Understanding finds me. Without quite knowing why, or what the outcome will be, I reach over and hold the stump where Chaff's arm used to be. He seems to be anticipating this and immediately takes Seeder's hand. I watch as one by one, the victors join hands. I feel something swelling in my chest. We are doing something. _We_ , the victors. Joined together as one. The crowd keeps rioting. We raise our joined hands high above our heads. The lights go out and plunge the auditorium into darkness. 

>>\---->

I know better than to hang around in the chaos that erupts following the disintegration of the interviews. I head to the elevators and am grateful to see Portia and the preps headed toward me. "Where are Peeta and Cinna?" I ask. I am suddenly worried that my interview bomb may bring fire upon Peeta despite my best efforts to keep him out of it. 

"We got separated," Portia tells me breathlessly. "Let's get you upstairs." She pulls me into an elevator. She looks as anxious as I feel.

When we arrive on twelve I look around frantically for Peeta. The silence in the penthouse feels oppressive. After what feels like eternity the elevator dings and I sigh in relief when he finally emerges, looking frazzled, but relieved.

Peeta throws himself into my arms, crushing me against him. Then he leans back and stares at me in amazement. "What in the world was that?"

Portia orders the preps to leave and drags us into the bathroom off the main living area. She opens the faucet to shield our conversation from any bugs listening in. "Was any of that real?" she demands. 

I glance at Peeta. "We're not married," he tells her.

"And I'm not pregnant," I admit.

She lets out a long slow breath and leans against the wall for support. With one arm draped across her forehead she says darkly, "You two will be the death of me."

Despite his visible concern for Portia, Peeta is radiating pride. His eyes are aglow with fierce adoration. "That was incredible," he tells me. "Everyone in the audience was beside themselves." His voice like this makes my skin hum and glow. I distantly wish Portia weren't here.

"It's true," Portia says. "Everyone around us was in tears. They don't know whether to be excited about the baby or devastated about the possibility of losing you."

Peeta explains that he had to maneuver his way through the crowd to escape from despondent fans. The memory of the rioting audience snags in my mind.

"You're going to be raking in sponsorships left and right," Portia tells him with a smile. She kisses me on the cheek and ruffles his hair affectionately as she leaves. "Get some sleep, lovebirds."

We stand together in the bathroom for a few moments, wrapped in each other's arms. As I consider our reflection in the mirror, I wonder what it would be like if the story were true. What if Peeta and I were really expecting a child? I think of the way we got carried away on the roof the other day. The way Peeta's eyes flickered in the sunset, the hunger that consumed me. In another world, it could be true. Of course the thought of a pair of sixteen year olds having a baby is ludicrous in any situation, but as we stand together and I bask in Peeta's joy, I can't help the crazy thought that if I ever were to have a child, I would want it to be Peeta's.

>>\---->

As we walk arm in arm towards the bedrooms, my thoughts become a question. "Do you think there's any way they'll cancel the Games?"

Peeta stops and looks down at me; his broken expression is too painful to look at so I flick my eyes away and keep walking.

"I don't think so," he says quietly. "I'm sorry, Katniss..."

"Forget it," I interrupt. "I don't know why I brought it up. They have to have their victor, after all."

"Maybe if we were both going in," he murmurs. I don't say anything further, and neither does he. We reach my bedroom door. 

I want to shower before dinner. Peeta agrees, and starts to walk towards his room. I am struck by the sudden crazy fear that if he enters his room he'll be locked in and we'll be forced to spend the night apart. I pull him back by his arm and convince him to shower in my room instead. I don't know whether it's my compelling argument or the crazed look I'm sure is in my eyes that convinces him.

While he showers, I exchange my mockingjay dress for a fluffy white bathrobe, laying the shimmering gown over a chair. I wonder what will become of it once I'm in the arena. I sit on the bed and pick the gems and pins out of my hair; I make a pile on the bedside table. When it is my turn to shower, I make Peeta promise he won't leave the room without me. He agrees in a voice that is slow and deliberate, as though he thinks my request is not quite rational.

I stand under the water and try to let the tension wash away with the glitter. I feel wound up tight inside, increasingly terrified of all that the morning will bring. I try to calm myself with deep breaths, but when I close my eyes all I see is Effie sobbing, Haymitch looking grim and promising to volunteer his life, Cinna stroking my cheek and saying, "I'm sorry this happened to you." I gasp and open my eyes. I shut off the water and step out onto the hot tile. My whole body shakes while I wring out my hair, dry my skin, and dress.

I was voraciously hungry earlier; now, as I return to the bedroom where Peeta waits for me, I feel panicked and jumpy. I don't want to leave the room. I don't want to see any of their faces. Peeta looks at me in confusion when I refuse to follow him to the dining room, and refuse to let him leave either.

"I don't want to deal with them right now." I wish my voice didn't sound so whiny.

"Katniss..." He sits beside me where I am huddled on the bed. My wet hair drips down my back. I shiver.

"Please, Peeta. Don't make me go out there. Can't we just stay here together. Please?" 

He frowns at me in confusion but concedes.

After a moment, I tell him, "I don't want to spend the last night of my life listening to Effie sob."

Peeta looks like I've slapped him across the face. "Last night?" he repeats weakly.

I shrug, thinking of the berries, the dress, my demonstration in the private Gamemaker sessions, which I'm sure Snow has heard about by now. I expect Snow has given orders to make sure I die. "We both know I'm not coming out of that arena." My tone is matter-of-fact, but seems to undo Peeta's practiced calm nonetheless. He stands and paces the room.

"Oh my God, Katniss. What are you trying to do to me?" He runs his hands through his hair in agitation, leaving it standing up in crazy tufts.

"I'm being realistic," I tell him, incredulous. 

"No," he snaps, "you're being fatalistic." I'm startled to see him suddenly so worked up. "I'm trying to do everything I can to bring you home. I need to know that you're fighting just as hard to come back to me. Please promise me you will."

I've been trying to avoid making promises I can't keep. But the ferocity in Peeta's eyes compels me. Plus, how many more promises will I really get to make? "Okay. I will. I'll try."

"Really, really try," he presses.

"Really, really try," I promise.

I see the tension drain from his body. He walks to the window and puts his face in his hands, sighing heavily. His voice is muffled when he says, "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

I laugh softly and join him at the window. "I'm sorry I pissed off President Snow."

He lowers his hands and smirks at me. "I'm sorry I punched Haymitch."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not."

We stand in silence watching the sunset together. Finally I tell him softly, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about our plan."

He says, "Thank you." Then, "I understand why you didn't."

"I thought you would try to talk me out of it," I admit.

"I would have," he agrees with a rueful smile.

"I'm just trying to keep you safe," I tell him.

"I know," he says heavily. "And I'm trying to keep you safe."

"I know."

He sighs and looks down at me. "I guess that's what you and I do. Protect each other."

I nod and then duck my head.

The world darkens around us. We curl together in bed. We don't sleep. We cry. We stare at each other. We exchange salt-water kisses, and Peeta whispers, "I love you, I love you, I love you" in the darkness. I know, I know, I know. I close my eyes and let the words wash over me. I have given up trying to convince Peeta not to waste his love on me, and in the hours before the dawn it feels good to be held, to be cherished. I feel selfish taking from him this way, but then I have always been selfish, and Peeta has always been selfless. I worry it would destroy us more completely than President Snow ever could if given the chance.

Too soon the door swings open and the Capitol attendants come for me. Peeta holds them off with a raised hand and pulls me aside. His voice is even, sure. "You're going to be okay. I'm going to see you in a few days." I nod and stare into his beautiful eyes, drink in his long golden eyelashes, his stupidly perfect nose. He kisses me and I feel like my heart will burst in despair. "Shoot straight," he whispers, releasing me. I feel my throat constrict with emotion. I nod curtly and then cross to the door to meet my attendants. As they lead me away I feel my heart shrink within me, my spirit turn to steel. From now on I cannot be weak. I am the Girl on Fire. I am the unforgiving victor. I am one of the star-crossed lovers, fighting tooth and nail to reunite her family.

At the last moment I turn and beg, "Stay alive." He smiles and nods. I think I see tears in his eyes. I think he is controlling them for my benefit. I put three fingers to my lips and hold them out to him. My last gift to him, and it's hardly enough.

>>\---->

Claustrophobia hits as soon as I enter the hovercraft. The tracker in my arm seems like more of a formality than anything. At what point in the past year have I not been constantly, invasively surveilled? 

It takes me a while to realize my anxiety stems - insanely - not from my impending entry to an arena designed to exterminate me, nor from the crew of experienced killers who will join me there, but rather from my separation from Peeta. I keep glancing around nervously trying to find him, even though I know he's miles away in the Capitol.

"He's okay. He is safe," I think. I close my eyes to keep from searching for his blond hair and repeat the words in my mind over and over. Maybe if I say it enough I will begin to believe it.

>>\---->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos - they are super encouraging! If you would like to follow me on tumblr, I post updates and all things everlark at boobooboo888. Also as always, thank you to caramel willow, fabulous editor and amazing friend. I hope the sun is shining where you are. Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
